


Animals

by ColorInPlatinum



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out of the Shadows (2016)
Genre: Other, i have a type can you tell, i need some character deelopment for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorInPlatinum/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>two halves make a whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bebop

Brooklyn circa 1988 isn't that bad when you look at the history books, but for a parentless black kid named Anton, things were always bad. To this day, Bebop can recant tales of every scar, every scrape, every taut stripe of skin that his mutation couldn't cover. This one was some white boy who punched him in the gut, this was a few cops who beat him half to death on the streets and left him in the alley.

But his favorite had to be the curved scar that carved into his cheek, leaving behind a bright pink crescent.

The first fight he'd won.

He'd had his ass handed to him, and at the last minute he slammed his fist into the fucker's face and shattered his nose in what had to be eight different places. Everything was red, adrenaline pumped through his veins, and when his head cleared, he stood above a bloody mess of a man who'd never look the same no matter how much surgery he went through. And Bebop got away with a few bloody bruises and a single, crescent shaped cut in his cheek.

He coveted that scar.

He remembered some horror movie. "We covet what we see every day." Maybe that's why it was his favorite story to brag on.

Fast forward about five years later and he's sitting next to some Irish kid who likes to call himself Finnish for the sake of a shitty pun. For months, Bebop can't stand the guy. They're both as thick as steel walls, but even idiots have their limits. The grating accent, the clash of paper white skin and fiery red hair; it's all Bebop can do not to rip the guy's head off.

Their gang leader sends them out on a few small crime sprees; steal a car here, rob a bank there, simple stuff. Stuff he's good at. Stuff he started to hate because of this fucker _Rocksteady._

We covet what we see, huh?

Maybe that's why they ended up such good friends.

Bebop remembers standing back to back with Rocksteady, the first time they'd gotten cornered by the NYPD on one of their jobs. There's cash in canvas bags slung over their shoulders, guns in both their hands, and Bebop has to peer over his shades to see what looks like hundreds of cops. Logic tells him there's not that many, not for a bank robbery--but paranoia insists upon the numbers.

Even with their intense hatred for one another at the time, they played off each other perfectly in combat. Rocksteady's slow, but hit hard, wasting his bullets and then using the empty guns as clubs to crack skulls and shatter teeth. Bebop's more strategic (as strategic as he can be) than the other, practically counting his bullets, alternating between guns and knives and fists. Every weakness seems to be the strength of the other and vice versa.

Bebop remembers the next part with stunning clarity, even after all these years. A flash of white and red and Rocksteady takes a blast right to the chest for Bebop. It cuts right through him and grazes Bebop's shoulder, and then his counterpart hits the floor in a pool of blood.

Talk about seeing red.

Bebop blacked out. He didn't know how, but when he came to, the cops were all either out cold (maybe dead) or running for backup. It was enough time for Bebop to drop the cash and get Rocksteady to safety.

They holed up in a sewer for a few hours, with Bebop ripping pieces off his jacket every five minutes thinking he hadn't used enough bandages. He's jabbering on even more so than usual, more nonesense than even he can understand, just to keep Rocksteady's eyes open.

Eventually of course, their boss sends for them. Rocksteady is treated by the house doctor and Bebop takes the beating and the reprimand for losing all that cash over the life of someone he didn't even like.

We covet what we see every day.

But every day without Rocksteady was absolute agony. He was nearly on his knees by day three, but the doctor refused to let anyone in to see Rocksteady. It took the dumbass a whole week until he could walk without passing out again.

For once when they meet, they don't speak. Rocksteady passes off his crutches to Bebop, who wordlessly helps the other sit. No thanks is given, but none need be spoken.

We covet what we see.

Call it animal instinct or pure idiocy, but to this day Bebop can't call that crescent shaped scar on his cheek his favorite. It's not even the pale on on his shoulder. It's the huge, scattered scar on Rocksteady's chest, the memory of the moment they actually became friends.

Bebop huffs and turns his head from the snoring rhino next to him and back to the vast jungle instead. You're supposed to be on watch, damn it, get your head outta the clouds.

"We covet what we see," he mutters. It hangs in the air. _Like a fart,_ he finds himself thinking. It's enough to send a giggle through him, and he covers his snout with both hands to keep from waking Rocksteady.

_Like a big, grey fart._


	2. Rocksteady

It sucks having to force yourself to sleep on your back when you've spent the last thirty-odd years doing the opposite. Rhino horns'll fuck that up for you.

Rocksteady's a little jealous of Bebop at times; his sleeping position practically got more comfortable. He just--curls up into a ball of fur and hackles and fat and snores his way through the night.

Long story short, Rocksteady's become a night owl. He'll get up whenever he's needed, stay awake until sunrise, then pass out for a good few hours. It's nearly impossible to wake him in that state, too. It's led to more than one beating from Shredder, and hell, even Bebop, for sleeping through a particularly vicious attack.

So now he gets about twenty hours all to himself. Granted, about half of that time is spent shooting up banks or cracking turtle shells or cleaning Krang's slime from his good boots, but it's still a helluva lotta time to be alone. And idiots should never be left alone.

They start to think if they're left alone.

In Rocksteady's case, he thinks about what he's doing, what he's become, both literally and figuratively. In these thoughts, he finds himself lost in memory, able to smell his mother's Sunday stew and feel his little sister's hand tightening around his and he wonders just what they'd say if they saw him now.

He once mentioned that to Bebop, whose genius response was (in an incredibly offensive excuse for an Irish accent), "Holy shite, it's a fuckin' talkin' rhino!"

That nearly earned him a broken tusk, but it ended in laughter as always.

But alone, without Bebop to lighten the mood and bring him back down to earth, Rocksteady thinks about it. His mother's rolling in her grave already, he knows that, but his sister--god, she'd be crushed. Devastated to see her big brother turned from the boy she once jokingly said she'd marry to a mutated, monstrous criminal working with a man aiming to destroy the world.

Rocksteady liked to imagine leaving one day, hugging Bebop tighter than any simple embrace from the past, thanking Shredder for everything he gave him, even thanking the turtles for giving him something to fight for. But that dream was crushed when that slime tainted his bloodstream. Sure, he's big, tough, intimidating. He's taken whole magazines of bullets to the back and barely flinched, but in the end it means nothing.

What happens when this is over? Regardless of who wins, where do he and Bebop go? If they lose this fight, they'll be outcasts, monsters. Even the turtles wouldn't take them in after what they'd done.

If they win the fight, people will honor them. But it won't be out of respect or admiration, like they'd always dreamed. They'd all be afraid. They'd probably whisper to their children to go to bed early or the angry rhino will eat you up!

Rocksteady traces over scars littering his arms and chest and legs and recalls every story behind them, wondering if it was ever even worth it in the first place. Bebop's his best friend, but what if they'd met under different circumstances? Maybe Bebop would be Uncle Anton to some little kid Rocksteady would carry around on his hip. Maybe he'd be the best man at his wedding. Hell, if the circumstances were right, he might be the person giving Rocksteady the ring. But those circumstances would never happen, could never happen, and in hindsight, maybe they shouldn't.

Never leave an idiot alone.

He'll start to think.


	3. Imbeciles

Imbeciles. Ingrates. Idiots.

Neither of them could count on their fingers and toes how many times a day it's shouted in their ears. The world doesn't have enough fingers and toes for that.

But sometimes they wonder if the Shredder really looked in on their expertise or if he picked them because it was convenient. Surely there were at least a hundred other thugs in NYC willing to mutate their bodies for one of the most wanted and feared villains in history. They had to be special.

Right?

Bebop's a firearms genius; he knows how to use any gun to his advantage, knows how to do more than spray and pray. He counts bullets and perfect his reloading technique, learns ways to modify the hilt so it's a weapon all on its own when the ammo runs dry.

Rocksteady was an army officer before all this. Now he's a tactical whiz, able to plan out a strategy in record time. When Bebop's methods fail, he always turns to Rocksteady's brand of expertise. It's a twisted, warped, utterly amazing version of military tactics, narrowed down to make them an army of two. He's a genius.

They're both geniuses.

So why does the Shredder talk to them like that?

Sure, Bebop stopped going to school in the fifth grade. Sure, Rocksteady couldn't read until he was seventeen. Intelligence is neither of their strong suits; never has been. Never will be. And honestly? They like it that way, because their intelligence comes from something different. Something more personal than letters and numbers and equations.

Like how Rocksteady figured out he can pick Bebop up to throw him in the midst of battle. Like how Bebop learned how to make a functioning chainsaw morning star. Like how they both recovered the artifact and got to home base in one piece.

But they both sport scars from that adventure.

"Sure, we lost a damn plane!" Bebop had cried. "So what? We got yo' thing!"

"Idiot." And the Shredder adorned Bebop's fur with two red lines.

Rocksteady had tried to intervene, but it left him with a dent in his helmet and a chip on his largest horn. They spent the rest of the day in silence, working on their bikes.

Their bikes!

They'd gone out, robbed them each a Harley, and then turned it into these glorious little thing. Extended the seat, strengthened the suspension, added thicker tires with deeper ridges for the specific purpose of driving over rubble and dead bodies (Rocksteady's idea). Rhino horn-shaped blades on the front wheel cover for Rocksteady, plenty of purple accents for Bebop.

Of course their bikes were destroyed by Casey fucking Jones.

"I hate that guy!" Rocksteady had groaned, holding his bleeding side while Bebop wrapped his own in gauze.

"Can't shake the dude, he's like a leech!" Bebop had agreed.

They'll fix their bikes. They always do.

Build them up and watch them fall; they're like living Jenga blocks, and Shredder's the one who likes to knock them down.

But now, with Shredder gone, Karai missing, and Doctor Stockman behind bars too thick for the Foot to cut through, they've got nothing--again.

So they'll wait. They'll order and demand, even with that cold feeling in their guts that reminds them how fucking stupid they are. But they'll do it anyway.

Imbeciles. Ingrates. Idiots.

It always felt more like a compliment when _Shredder_ said it.


End file.
